the last cigerette

i stopped smoking entirely sometime in the last century, decades and decades ago. I cannot imagine any longer what to smoke a cigarette might be like. It’s probably impossible to know even things you can remember. I timed a person smoking outside the cafe yesterday, it took them 6 minutes and 3 seconds to light and smoke the cigarette, which i realised was going to be the one that killed them, it was why I was drinking espresso and eating a pastry whilst timing them on my chronograph, writing it down on my notebook for her. The last smoke dissolved before my eyes in the still air of the city.(I open my parentheses and draw them with my pen). Myself I was terrible at drinking and smoking, they were amongst the worst things I ever did, i always felt poorer after drinking, my coherence faded as the liquid was sipped, i smoked badly, boredly and nearly always the cigarettes I (stole) from other people. g. .- a. A. Boredom it seems is the end of such things. She put the cigarette end in the sand filled ashtray and looked around distractedly, pausing and then gathering her things started walking southwards, a drunken molecule moving erratically down the Southampton Way, a comprehensive refutation of the flow of electrons, the clinamen, not a smooth curve but a constant negotiation of events, enjoying the finitude.